


The Ashen Godling

by TheBlackLich



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: English is my second language, Family Bonding, Gen, Gods have true names and aliases because why not?, Grimm and Pale King have a history together, Grimm has fur because he is a moth, I had a simple idea and my brain hijacked it, I took some liberties about some characters but nothing too extreme I hope, Main character is my OC and you are warned, Our favorite vessels have mouths and I'm not sorry, Radiance is not the BBEG this time, Sibling Bonding, So many characters I'll barely mention or not at all, The Blackwyrn is a thing, The Hollow Knight is named Hallow, The Knight is Called Ghost (Hollow Knight), The Pale King is a Good Parent (Hollow Knight), The Pale King was a dragon and I'm sticking with this!, They are called Ashling, They have a tail because their dad has one, They/Them Pronouns for The Vessels (Hollow Knight), This is my first AU and HK fic ever, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29873103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackLich/pseuds/TheBlackLich
Summary: When he accepted to help the Wyrm with the Vessel Plan, Grimm did not expect twins to climb the Abyss, even less to find a third one in his tent. A feisty, feral Vessel, with a natural talent for the stage and its magic, whose existence was known only to their kin before stepping up and taking the spotlight.This is what happens when I make an OC for funsies and then a story pops in my head, and it continues to evolve as I write it, to include a lot of stuff I did not plan for but love anyway. I had a simple story in mind, but my brain had to hijack my idea and make it longer.(My boyfriend is still flabbergasted of all the feedback I received ^^')*I will take a short break to draw and think of what shenanigans entails the rearing of a feral god child**I will work on a minimum of one or two drawings per chapter, I can't give an estimate of when they are done because my brain can't be satisfied with doodles, so I have to line, colour, and shade them. Don't hesitate to ask me if I can post them elsewhere*
Comments: 38
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate times call for desperate measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of dialogue popping in my head before the story. That's it. That's the reason.

### A Warning

“I ask you again,” said a raspy voice. “Are you _certain_ you want to follow this path, my friend?”

“Yes,” answered a second one without hesitation.

In a small and dimly lit room, where tools and pieces were plenty, where stone tablets and rolls of silk sheet displayed seals, schematics, and notes, two regal beings were looking at each other.

“I’ve made up my mind, consulted countless possibilities, again and again, at each step. I will go through this plan. We talked about this”

The first one to speak sighed, looking carefully at the notes scattered on the table. He knew what those were about. He knew for he gave his friend the idea. However, it was only that: an _idea_.

“She’s one of the oldest and you still hope to stop Her?,” argued the shadowy being with a hint of irritation in his voice. “I’m asking this because I know how _stubborn_ you can be, how your kind can be! So, I’ll ask, for the _last_ time: are you determined to stick to this plan, no matter the cost, Cyrus?”

The second one stared at the table, his clawed hands gripping the fine wood. It was almost imperceptible, but he was shaking. Barely. Here, in this room, he was more of himself than generations of bugs ever saw. It was a mad plan. It was desperate. It was all his predictions had left. Rising his head on his shoulders, he locked eyes with his guest, his friend. They knew each other for a long time, since before this place became his holy nest. Both of them wanted to let the other speak first.

“I will not interfere,” added the guest. “Despite my relationship with Her. You have my word, as much as the word of someone such as myself is worth. But, think deeply about it, it is not…”

“I’m going through the Vessel Plan and it’s finite”

“What about Willow, Cyrus? What about your beloved? To hope for a slim chance of a Vessel, a child born of you two, a child she would _never_ be able to mother and raise as she wished for so long?”

“You use a Vessels as well! You’ve been doing it for eons! You told me about them! So, what now, Adrian? After all these years of planning and preparations, I shall abandon the _only_ path forward I saw?”

Adrian did not look away, didn’t move. He took a deep breath, faint smoke coming from his mouth.

“They will _not_ be perfect, my friend,” he warned the master of the room. “You _can’t_ give birth to emptiness.”

He bowed to Cyrus, his visit was at an end. They were done. With a flap of his red and black cloak, he disappeared in a flash of red flames and smoke. Cyrus stared at where his old friend was standing et closed his hand.

“ It will work, I will succeed,” he whispered to himself. “ I can’t fail, I _can’t_ let Her have it Her way!”

Anger crept in his voice as his body illuminated the room like a shining beacon and a flick of his long tail hit a tool rack whose contents fell on the white marble floor. The Plan was the way! The Plan was foolproof! So… why… why… _why_ was dread still clinging to him!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of magical beings having a true name and a surname, so I decided to apply the rule to gods and higher beings in Hollow Knight. More to show how close some relationships are, and sometimes by calling someone its real name it's easier to catch their attention or to add weight to a statement. I will not include the rule of power over names, I just love naming characters.


	2. Born In Solitude, Growing Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last egg hatches and its newborn Vessel wanders, with nobody to guide them.

Sounds. There were sounds. At the bottom of the pit, a shape was emitting sounds. It moved. It shook. And after no one would ever know how much time had passed, the surface of the shape donned a crack, a small one. Who, with persistence from within, got longer and wider, until, at last, a fragment fell and a hole was unveiled. Peering through it, a tiny being pressed again, scratching the inner walls to the point where the exit was large enough to let its inhabitant free to get out.

They looked around them. The place was spacious. They could not see the end of the area. What they could see made them shiver, without know exactly why, it was instinct. As far as their eyes saw, piles and hills of small objects, in number so great the ground was a rare sight. They looked up and saw nothing. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound, except when they began to walk and land their paws on the objects by accident. There were so many of them. Similar shapes. Same colour. Different designs. The wanderer opened their mouth. Nothing. They only heard their breath leave their lungs. Nothing. No moving stranger. Continuing their walk, they pressed onward in a straight line.

They had time to themselves. No presence they could feel. Their surroundings were… eerie and yet familiar. Part of them felt at ease but the other wanted to get out, get far, seek something. It was engraved in their mind; it was their instinct. But while what they sought was nowhere near, they knew, they discovered themselves on their way. No able to see a reflection, they had to rely on their touch. They knew their head was large, two small prongs on each cheek and a third pair over their head who was much bigger, two holes on the front, their eyes they noted when they wave their short arms over their face, their legs were short but they had feet and walked on the tip of said feet. There could have been an issue with their sense of balance if they did not have a fifth limb behind them, at the base of their back, that they could move how they liked. On their body, which was black as the sky, they felt the small weight of their wings, like a cloak whose colour was muted by the environment. Despite some effort, they refused to move by their will, but they had to admit they were comfy.

That was new. They stopped and put a small hand on the surface in front of them. It was hard. It went up. It was full of holes and crevices. Something was telling them to walk on that thing, put their limbs inside the mosaic of cracks to escalate. And they obeyed. And fell. And they obeyed again. Now, their instinct was driven them, nothing else. Perception of time was useless in a place where still was all there was. Dust and small rocks fell as they climbed up, they passed alongside spiky things they poke once and resolve to never do it again when a sharp pain in their palm became the result of their idea. They heard noises as their wings gained tears and rips by scraping the rough and painful surfaces. They felt no pain, they were not bothered. What they needed to do was to go up, inch by inch, limb by limb, platform by platform where they would sit and catch their breath.

They looked down from their perch, searching for where they came from. They could see the wall but not the ground. They could see the top of the biggest piles. Except for the stone at their back, it was black. It was empty. What was that they felt, at seeing this. Pain in their body. How long did they stay on their abode to think about it? It clicked. They wanted to see another one like them! Lots and lots of the small heads… they looked old… none moved. No one came to them. No one sought them. They were alone… their back on the wall, listening to nothingness. The climb left them tired, and their limb felt numb. They rolled themselves into a ball, glued to the wall, and decided to rest before resuming their journey.

In a hidden place where time was shunned, how long before they woke up? They stretched their body, feeling refreshed, and got back to their task. They would continue to go up until they found an exit, taking rests and going forward after, and so many pauses it took them, to find a tunnel. What was… this… it was… they looked at the wall and again at the tunnel, pondering… this new place… was different… the hard stuff… it was a new colour! And small things glowing! It was no longer the same darkness who ate everything and time, it was a new world and this one had life! Their instincts stirred them to seek the small lights, a gentle shade of blue, reflected on their shell and absorbed by their body. There were more lights ahead. The tunnel was small, the infant had to walk on all four, the weight of their head balanced by their tail.

They stopped when they found a bigger area. This place was round with a flat ground, except for a small elevation. They jumped on it and looked around, to freeze on the spot. Over their head, they saw many strings but was horrified them was the contents. There were big creatures but they saw some of their kin, barely bigger, suspended, limp, lifeless. They knew the small ones were their siblings for their recognized the heads, they shared similarities with the ones below, where their egg was still laying. What took them? What killed them? The small child jumped in fear when they heard a rustle behind them. They darted to the side to avoid the many-limbed creature wearing the face of one of their brethren. The thing roared, the little one could only look at it, paralyzed by fear. When a claw stroke their back and tore away a large section of their wings, the young one ran under the beast’s belly without thinking. They had no time to think! The monster was attacking them! It snarled and turned around to plunge its claw in the ground, scratching the flank of its prey.

The hatchling exhaled sharply under the sudden shock of pain, droplets of black blood staining the dirt under them. When their foe ran toward them, they jumped at the big, round, and somewhat exposed belly encased in black ribs. They grabbed the smooth surface with their tiny claws, opened their mouth, and bit it, feeling miniature fangs pierced the flesh and warm blood in their mouth. The creature howled and tried to shake them off. The child let go of their grasp, taking with them a bit of flesh, landed on their back, and did not skip a beat to run away in the tunnel leading away from this place and the end of the world. The monster stayed in its lair. Good, then they would continue and found themselves going up and up again.

There were sounds all around them. Claws digging, mandibles clacking, pebbles falling. In an isolated corner where no soul seemed to be, they stopped to catch their breath and rest, realizing how their limbs were shaking from the effort and their terror. They nearly died. They were about to be killed… killed and… eaten… like… their siblings… but unlike the others, they had a trophy, albeit a small one. Didn’t taste much and too firm for their baby fangs to properly chew it. Their wound stopped bleeding but they licked it clean, examining the remnants of their wings. Most of it was gone, it was more vestigial. They let their mask hit the dirt with a soft ‘thud’ and after that, it went all black.

Opening their eyes, they stretched their body in their small alcove. Something new was happening. Their belly ached. A sensation of something pulling or tearing inside their abdomen, vibrations echoing in their shell. A mount of dirt appeared near them, a small and long creature emerged from it, big claws on it face. It hissed and lunged at them. They dodged to the side, careful to not get injured again. They were curious. It was a new thing. Mush smaller, more manageable than the big-bellied beast. The critter was going in and out of the soil, surprising the hatchling a few times. They got a few scrapes but nothing major. Tired of this, they exited their hole, the vermin following them. More space here, easier to fight. When the critter bit their tail, they shook it with force, knocking the small enemy on a hard rock. Its grip went loose and stayed on the ground, moving a little. The black one saw cracks on their chitin plates. They looked at the rock and the armored worm again.

They took the bug by their tail with both hands and smacked them on the rock, hearing another cracking sound and the plates were more damaged. They slammed it again, and again, and again, this time at the junction of two plates, and this time the critter went limp. No sound. No movement. Nothing. From the wound between the plate of its underside, blood was dropping. And the smell of it made something click in the child’s mind. A growl of no sound and only air rose in their throat. They gripped one plate with each hand and tore them away from each other, revealing the insides. Insides they took the biggest chunk they could, barely chewing, gobbling their prize, no care for their appearance, their mask and arms dirtied with blood. For the first time since they were born, they felt satiated. Here, existed things they could prey on. By reaching this point, their chance of survival had increased. They had a small hole for themselves and knew how to get food from these creatures. Discarding the remains of their meal, they set out to explore the area, keeping track of their movements and turns to find their little nest, the path illuminated with glowing flora.

Another while looking for food, another while walking around. The same routine until they were tired, hiding in small crooks and crannies along the way, going farther and farther away from their nest. It was just a hole in which they slept on the ground, they found plenty of other holes like it. They were getting better at reading the movements of their prey and found new ones too! Small round one with many legs. Trickier to catch because those walked on walls and ceiling. They tried to snatch one if they thought they had a chance to take it unaware, but those occasions were scarce. Their first encounter with a long armoured worm made them stay away from those tunnels, wary of the slightest sound of scraping dirt, cautious in their choice of path to explore. When they could find nothing, and their belly became too painful to ignore they resorted to eating the glowing lights. Far from the tasty meat, the texture was mushy, but their stomach was not empty anymore. After eating said not-so-tasty-light, they straighten up when they heard sounds.

Those were not the sounds of prey nor big worms, even less of a big-bellied beast. Not far from here. The hatchling trotted in the direction of those sounds, curious. The nearer they got, the slower they paced their movements. They were so close. Now crawling, they peeked from behind a rock. Many creatures were together, facing each other. Big rounds ones, some longer with enormous claws, all with many eyes. All of the many noises, different. One had its own sound, one beside it had it too. They all had their own sound, making a myriad of noises. New predators? The child did not attempt to think they could take one in combat, even if they tried an ambush, but they were fascinated. These were far from the beasts they were now familiar with. Nothing would try to mess with those strange things. The infant put a paw in front of their body, knocking a pebble they did not see. The rocky sound was low but loud enough for the big beings to look in their direction.

Uh-oh…

The creatures made more sounds, but faster, harsher. One raised a clawed limb towards them and now all pairs of eyes were glaring at them. This was not good… When they approached, the hatchling arched is back trying to look bigger, hissing. Whether the strangers stopped a few seconds because it worked or because they were intrigued, they did not stay to figure it out. They left this place the same way they came and sprinted into the tunnels, turning left or right at random, always going up. They could hear the footsteps behind them. Their pursuers were far bigger than them, but they had the advantage of being able to hide in a secluded hole or cracks no big predator could. The cavern they ended up in had a few new things. A big, round, flat object on their right and… mounts? On thin and tall… things?

Sounds behind! No time to think!

They jumped on the mounts, higher and higher. Above their head, they saw a hole. An exit! Far from the big beasts! They saw the predators enter the room as they left in the tunnel, crawling in the tiny space, following a fresh, perfumed, flowery scent. A light, farther away. Bigger and brighter than the mushy ones they ate a few times. It got brighter and brighter as they advanced. They closed their eyes, shielding them with a hand. It took them a while to get used to it. So many sounds. High pitched sounds, rustling sounds, and so many more. The scenery! Colours! Light! The air felt so fresh! They took deep breaths, it felt so good! And this place was a new territory to explore! But after that chase, they needed to find a place to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the longest chapter. This little Vessel is not an introspective one, this story is still what popped in my mind after playing with Vessel Maker, and my mind went full-throttle building upon it. I may add pictures, just have to find the time to draw them ^^'.


	3. Family Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprises come in many forms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not add the other characters until much later, I said. It will be a simple story I said.
> 
> Guess what my brain decided to do?

The Devouts and Weavers stopped their pursuit. What was that bug? They never saw anything like it before. It was not a Nosk either. It ran away on four and had a tail, despite the low light it looked covered in dirt and blood. Its hiss sounded like a forced breath, no real sound behind it. It was gone, now, it escaped to the Queen’s Gardens. Nothing to do but to report this to the Queen.

Herrah was weaving when someone requested an audience with her, sitting in her chair beside a small cradle, glancing inside from time to time. The spider made a sign for her citizen to enter the room. The Weaver bowed down, waiting for his Queen to give the right to speak. Herrah took the time to finish the section of clothing she was working on before putting her project and tools on her legs.

“What is it, Adlaide?”

“My Queen, my patrol, and I encountered a creature the like we’ve never seen,” answered the Weaver.

“An unknown creature?”

“Yes. A minuscule bug, no Weaver nor Spider, no Mantis either. It had four limbs, a tail, its body seemed pitch black, and its head… I think it may be white, two small prongs on each cheek, two larger ones on top of its head, like your horns, Your Majesty.”

“And you think its head may be white?” asked Herrah tilting her head on the side.

“We barely saw it before it ran away,” added Adlaide, “from the light of the fungi it looked covered in dirt and dry blood, its body and head. It appeared to have wings, but badly damaged.”

“Where is that creature?”

The Weaver looked down.

“It fled towards the Gardens, my Queen. We could not catch it. I’m so sorry,” he apologized.

The Spider Queen said nothing, thinking. A small black bug with a white head. She heard of those before, but where? She could have sworn she even saw… oh… _oh_ … she dismissed the Weaver with a wave of a hand and waited to be alone before standing up and picking up her phone. The tram was a tad too ambitious, but the Stagways and the phone were much more negotiable. She rang the other side of the line, no waiting long for a certain someone to pick up.

“Wyrm, this is Herrah. I have a few questions for you”

Time and time again, it was in his workshop that felt the most at ease, crafting, drafting, letting his imagination go wild. In the small bubble of his own world where he was at peace. Today was another day, one of the Kingmoulds needed repairs after one of the twins gave it a good smack during their training. Humming a melody, his train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of the workshop’s phone. Who could be calling him? It was not time to eat yet, so it could not be His Queen. Maybe Lurien found something in the City, wanting to gossip. He hoped it was something like that and not…

It was Herrah.

And she did not lose time.

“What do you mean ‘a Vessel’?” asked the King, surprised by her question. “There are only two and they’re with Root right now”

Those two were the only ones he saw at the entrance of the Abyss; he saw them climbed the pit and look at him. No other Vessel was in sight.

“It has been almost three years since I brought the twins to the palace, Herrah. I sealed the only door”

He walked in circles, clawed feet clicketing on the marble floor, his tail twitching nervously.

“Your Weaver said he did not get a good look at the bug, and he said it had a tail. The twins do not have tails, there is no tangible proof a third Vessel exists, Herrah. Hm-hm. Hm-hm. You want _what_!?”

His tail straightened as he almost yelled. The workshop’s door opened, and the White Lady entered the room. Oh _great_! Now he had the Beast on the phone _and_ his wife in his atelier!

“Something the matter, my Wyrm?” asked the Queen inquisitively. “I heard you scream!”

“No! Nothing! It’s all right! Everything is all right, my love,” replied the Pale King a bit too fast for His Lady’s liking. “It’s just Herrah on the…”

Phone. Phone the White Lady took from his hand.

“Herrah! It’s so good hearing you!”

The Queen was glowing. He did not dare take away the phone from her, he knew how much the Queens were close despite what happened before the peace treaty. Their conversations were mostly platitudes about banal things, he only turned his attention to them when his daughter was mentioned. Now was such a time.

“I would love to organize a picnic in my Gardens!” declared the White Lady. “Yes, yes, we would be delighted! Yes! I will bring Hornet’s favorites! Of course, the twins will come with us! They have to spend time with their little sister!”

“The Vessels don’t need…” began the King.

“Does next week sounds good to you?” continued his wife without listening to him. “Magnificent! We’ll meet at my gazebo, I’ll send Dryya to escort you from the Stag Station, and tell Hornet we can’t wait! Bye! Oh? You want to talk to Wyrm? Alright, I will give him the phone back, I left the twins with Ogrim and Isma. I have to tell them the news!”

She passed the phone back to the King, kissed on the forehead, and walked out the workshop, positively glowing, almost skipping and giggling. Wyrm sighed.

“Anything else, Herrah?” he asked with a hint of tiredness in his voice. “Yes, yes, I’m almost finished working on it. And as I said: There is no third Vessel, I never saw a third one with my foresight. Yes, I’m sure. I’m positive! Ugh… see you next week. Yes, goodbye, Herrah.”

He put the phone back, sighed once more but louder, and let his four arms drop as he let himself down on his table. He already had to manage two Vessels, Vessels his Lady was mothering despite him repeating the fact that they were empty, had no mind, no emotion, they were puppets, automatons, and his daughter who took a lot from her mother despite her young age. Raising children was exhausting, how could Grimm have said it was easy? The bastard! He had to finish his gift to Hornet before the trip. A day sipping tea in the Gardens beat any day sitting on the throne or in the council room. He needed a break anyway.

The Queen’s Station was, with the Palace Station, the quietest, since it was reserved for the Royal Family and retainers of the Gardens, with the occasional visit, such as this one. The stag lowered its body to let its passengers descend on the platform. Near the bench, the Great Knight Dryya was waiting, her back straight, her needle at her side, her fierce posture declaring her confidence in her talents and skills. She greeted the Queen of Deepnest with a bow and so did Herrah after her. In her lower pair of arms, her bundle of joy squirmed a bit before a small head popped in the open, eyeballing the scenery. The guests followed the Knight towards the location the White Lady had chosen for their afternoon as a family.

The gazebo was as pure and immaculate as the palace, its structure elaborate and sturdy, the designs giving away the identity of the one who planned its construction. If the King was excelling at one thing, it was craftmanship. Be it furniture, buildings, ornaments, weapons, and toys. Expecting to use the table, the little family was relaxing on a large sheet on the floor, tea set already being used. A small box with a ribbon beside his royal presence caught the attention of the Princess who jumped and landed on her feet to dash in direction of what appeared to be a present for her, to be stopped by her father who gently scooped her off the ground.

“You have to say ‘hi’ first, Hornet,” he reminded his daughter.

Hornet crossed his glance, rubbed her hands together, and answered timidly: “Hi, Papa.”

“Much better”

He relaxed his grip and she climbed on his arm to descend on his back and reach for her gift. Herrah installed herself, greeting everyone, while the White Lady was organizing the plates with the help of the twins.

It was fairly accurate to call them like this. Both had horns on the head, the first had larger ones with an inner prong at the middle of their height, the second had thinner horns with two small prongs at their end. The King never named them, but the Beast knew her royal friend had done so to differentiate her children: she called the first one Hallow because he had a white cloak, and the second one Ghost with his grey cloak and apparently proficiency to disappear and sneak up on people. They were both diligently helping their mother set everything out for everyone to enjoy. Herrah thought back on what her Weaver told her, last week. Hallow and Ghost did not have wings, but they had a mouth, they had a black body and a white head, but those were the only traits they shared with the strange creature. It was not enough. Maybe she was ruminating too much about it. She was at a picnic and she was going to enjoy it! And the tea. The Queen always had a good tea.

Hornet was running in circles around her half-siblings who turned their head to follow her movements. Their mother asked them to watch the little spider and that’s what they were doing. She was waving a toy needle, making ‘woosh’ sounds, only stopping when her stomach growled in front of the various meats, fruits, and vegetables. She even had a glass of honeyed water, her favorite! Her mom, dad, and step-mom were talking banalities, stuff about kingdoms, much less interesting than the pieces of roasted tiktik and spoonful of jam on toast. She knew something about meals like this: after eating, she could play! It was her stepmom’s Gardens, she could explore! She was safe!

“Mama, wanna play!”

Herrah took a sip, glancing at the King who glanced at her in return.

“If the twins are with you,” declared her mother.

Hornet looked at her father with her begging eyes. He turned his head towards the Vessels.

“Stay with Hornet, at all cost, no matter what,” he ordered them.

Both shook their head in approbation, getting up to pick two shellwood nails. Their sister giggled in anticipation. They posted themselves on her sides, like bodyguards. Herrah thought they were adorable; Hornet was half their size and yet she was trying to look impressive. The trio left the gazebo to stroll along a small stream. What could possibly happen in the Queen’s Gardens? Despite the relaxed atmosphere, all three of the adults were alert to anything. A habit for Herrah, the White Lady was connected to Hallownest through her divine nature, and the King was a Wyrm before, and Wyrms, from the stories the spider heard as a child, had an uncanny quality to know when their domains were invaded.

“I have to bring back some of that tea, Root. Do you have some you could spare?”

“My, certainly, a gift in return for the silk capes you sent us for the twins”

Capering beside the flowery bushes, the trio admired the flora of the Queen’s domain. Here, away from their parents, the twins were different kids. Hornet was zipping between them as they zigzagged and whirled on the small cobblestone path. Ghost caught their little sister a few times as she was about to trip. Their usual self, Hallow was more attentive to their surroundings. As their twin steadied Hornet once again, they drew their training nail in front of them. They heard a rustle. Not sure where, exactly.

 _What is it?_ asked a voice in their mind.

Ghost put his hands on the princess’s shoulders. She looked at her older sibling, nail still drawn.

 _Probably nothing_ , replied Hallow sheathing their wooden weapon. _There’s a big tree with lots of fruits that way. Maskflies love it!_

Ghost nodded, pointing in the right direction to show Hornet where they were going. She could not hear them. They had that gift, people say, the bond between twins. They could read each other’s emotions and send their thoughts to speak. With their mother, they used to sign or written language. With their father… they acknowledged. As much as they wanted to be what he desired them to be, Vessels to contain a goddess, the White Lady saw through their façade sooner than anybody else. Motherly instinct? They never hid who they were with her, and Hornet was so young, they could indulge her wanting to play and grow up with siblings.

The white arches entangled with green vines and leaves left the place to a more untamed section of the Gardens. This is where they could see a bit of wildlife, in the safety of civilization while basking in the beauty of nature. The Vessels went to Greenpath a few times, on educational trips to learn about Hallownest native fauna and flora. They preferred it here, the air was lighter, invigorating, and the lights! They loved the lights! Pale lights in lanterns, soft to the eyes, like lumaflies. Farther than the pale lamps was a tree, large as the front doors of their home, its rugged bark covered in various lichens and moss, innumerable branches dressed in leaves and fruits.

Hornet was admiring it; “It so big!”

On the other hand… Ghost tapped Hallow’s shoulder.

 _It’s quiet_ , they remarked.

Hallow nodded. Yes, it was. This part of the Gardens was supposed to be livelier. If they recalled correctly, maskflies had a habit of nesting in that tree, attracting vengeflies, mosscreeps and mossflies were common here, lazily walking or flying around. What happened?

A bush stirred on their right. Both Vessels drew their nail, Hornet imitating them with her needle. A few maskflies flew away in an uproar of frightened chirps, hurrying to the skies. The twins posted themselves in front of their sister. They trained with their father and the Knights. They were rookies but they knew the basics of nailsmanship. If it was a predator, it would one versus two.

 _Show yourself!_ called out Ghost.

Their wish was soon answered. From the bush jumped a bigger bug in front of them. They steadied their stance. They would not back down! They were knights! They were Vessels! They…

The thing hissed. A sound of no voice and air, as if the creature was forcing itself to make a sound. Had it lost its voice? Careful, the twins were examining what was confronting them. The bug was smaller than them but bigger than Hornet. It was standing on its four limbs, a tail held up high behind its back, its big head had six prongs, two on each cheek and two on top of its head, its mouth opened, barring diminutive fangs, two big round empty eyes staring at…. Wait… Hallow put one foot forward, earning another hiss. Two big round empty… _eyes_? Despite his shell, Father’s eyes were visible as they reflected light. Like all bugs, they knew. The only bugs with such eyes were themselves and Ghost, the only Ves… sels…

 _Sib’, do you feel that?’_ inquired Ghost whose inner voice trembled.

_I do._

Hornet could not feel it, and they were glad for that. Hunger. Pain. Tiredness. _Fear_. The twins only felt outside emotions from each other. Mother told them it could because they were twins born of the same egg or their connection to the void, maybe all Vessels could have been able to do the same if…

If they _survived_ …

The twins thought they were the last ones to hatch, escalating piles and mountains of tiny cracked head, working their way up to reach the light above them. Their father sealed the Abyss after their departure. They saw no one except themselves during their trek. If the bug facing them was a Vessel as well, it escaped before their hatching, or after.

Hallow raised an arm and slowly put his nail on the grass. They postured themselves to stand on their four limbs, back arched, mimicking the stranger. They opened their mouth and huffed. A sound of no sound but air leaving their throat. It was a hunch. Speculating this possible Vessel lived alone since its birth and knew not of Void voice nor language. Their uninvited guest lowered its tail and raised its head.

Ghost was about to step forward to drive the enemy away when Hallow stopped them with their raised arm. Had their sibling gone mad? The thing was hostile! Hornet was still a toddler and their parents were too far away to help if things got sour! To the surprise of both half-siblings, the bug stopped its menacing behavior, and seemed to calm down, as the white-cloaked Vessel imitated it. Curiosity emanated from the unknown one. A flash of red flew in their peripheral vision, towards the creature. Ghost did not react fast enough to stop Hornet who stopped her run between the facing small bugs. The new one backed down a few steps, a low hiss being heard again.

Hornet searched in her cloak for a few seconds before erecting her hand in front of her.

“Hungry?”

Her tiny hand held a piece of dry boofly meat in a napkin.

“I have more,” she added while putting the food on the grass and getting back to Hallow who raised their body back on their two feet.

Ghost also approached and picked up their sibling’s nail. No one moved. The leaves rustling a floral melody under the gentle breeze. One step, two steps, three steps forward. From the strange bug. Careful, watching, taking its time to approach the offering. The trio did not move an inch, exhaling in relief when was gleefully accepted in one bite, swallowed whole. Hornet giggle and took another piece of food to give. The bug approached with more precautions, yet the Vessels felt its hunger compelled it to seek the young spider’s hand, taking over its fear. When it took the second morsel, then the children were able to get a much better look at their improvised new friend.

Its body was covered in mud and blood, the black of its soft carapace visible at the joints, scratches, and cuts everywhere, some fresh and some old. A large head with a separate lower jaw, like the twins, where white was barely visible under layers of dirt, two empty holes but they knew eyes were hidden in the dark. What surprised them, was its back. At the height of its shoulder, six wings laid resting. Rather, what was left of wings. So much of it taken and tore away, ripped to shreds. Was it a Vessel, they wondered, for they never had wings.

The princess took a section of her cloak and rubbed it on the bug’s face, stroking it gently, like Mama used to do when she got dirty. The area of the cloth became brown in no time, leaving a cleaner spot on the soiled mask. She could see the white underneath all that filth. Would mama let her keep the beast? In Deepnest, probably. In the Palace? Papa would say no. He was saying no a lot. More than Mama. Maybe the beast could stay in the Gardens and she could visit it! She gave a third piece of food, she kept a cookie filled with jelly for the trip back, but it was hungrier than she was. Chewing the treat, its tail began to wag left and right. Its behaviour relaxed her siblings who let their shoulders rest down after sharing a glance.

Ghost wanted to be sure of one thing, maybe they were projecting their sensations and the new bug was that: just a bug.

 _Can you hear me?_ they beseeched the target of their thoughts.

If it was an ordinary bug, it would do nothing, just lick Hornet’s palm and wag its tail with no care in the kingdom. Only Hallow ever responded to them when asked directly, their godly parents never showed any hints at understanding their Void voice since Father brought them home. The possibilities of this bug react…

It _moved_.

It could have been _anything_ , a maskfly over their heads, the voice of their parents, a noise from the bushes or from the branches of the giant tree.

But there were _no_ sounds to respond to.

It heard the Vessel.

Ghost was certain, the bug heard them. The way it perked up and looked at the gray cloaked knight left no doubt. Not only did that thing _heard_ his Void voice, but they also heard from _whom_ it originated. The twins were aghast. It _was_ a third Vessel! A Vessel who escaped the Abyss by another path! They had another sibling! They had to tell their parents! They had to tell Father another one hatched and survived! Mother would be delighted! Joy and elation were shared between the void children who could not believe their luck! But… the young knights realized that convincing the feral Vessel to follow them would not be an easy task. They were likely to flee as soon as the adults came into their view, probably to never be found again in the vast Gardens. Maybe tie them to an improvised leash? No. They would struggle. More food? Convince the adults to bring food and appear friendly? It would take a while and they had to keep an eye on them.

The train of thoughts got broken by a loud ‘thump’ farther away, from behind them. The kids looked back from where they came and saw one of the retainers walking towards them. Hornet waved and said hello, but the bug did not acknowledge her salutations. He was unsteady on his feet as if he was woozy. His body swayed, following his steps. When he got under the light of one of the lanterns, the children were able to see his eyes. Something in the Vessels made them froze where they stood. His eyes were glowing a golden-orange light. He was mumbling incomprehensibly as he continued to walk to the royal heirs. Hornet grabbed Ghost’s cloak, clutching to her older sibling. Hallow put themselves between them and the retainer, training nail drawn. This was not normal. Not normal at all!

So many emotions and feelings were swirling in the void siblings’ minds when their eyes locked on the retainer.

Consume.

Enemy.

Hunt.

 _Kill_.

Everything went black in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a chapter from other points of view. Tried to write Ghost more cautious and Hallow more bold, kind of a switch of what I usually see. Yes, drawings will be added, I just need to work on them, and decide what design I want for the Vessels mouth. Chapter 4 is already started.


	4. Sibling Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three wyrms reflect on what happened earlier today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Word document of my notes in bullet-point of what happens in this story. I had to edit my notes about this chapter because I did not plan it this way. I do not regret it.

The royal couple were cleaning their children, back at the Palace. It was the evening, before dinner. Body, cloak, and face covered in tainted blood and grass stains. The twins opposed no resistance. They needed new clothes; the previous ones were too filthy to wash properly and bore many tears. After drying the children, the King brought them to their room; a small area with a bed big enough for them to sleep together, a drawer, a mirror. The minimum. Little did the Wyrm know his Vessels had toys and books hidden behind a panel. They could not stop giggling when the Lady asked it to be made, proceeding to fill it with presents.

Her Majesty wanted her husband to succeed, but she had other ideas of what kind of strength could take on the Old Light. Let the Vessels be children, it was better that way. Maybe the King knew already, deep in his mind, refusing to consciously accept it.

Left alone in their room, the twins got on their bed, thinking. Thinking about what happened earlier today.

_The retainer continued his walk, sick orange light glowing from his eyes, a thin dribble of saliva the same colour. Ghost was shielding a scared Hornet with their body, holding a defensive stance. Hallow was waiting, ready to attack. Their nails were not sharp but they hurt nonetheless. They were able to put out a fight! They were trained by the Five Great Knights! They were Knights themselves!_

_Were their emotions those of a Knight? This whirlpool hidden deep inside them. None of the Vessels moved since the servant showed his face. Motionless like statues._

_Until he landed a foot on the blades of grass._

_A blur of black and brown darted beside Hallow, specks of dust flew in the wake of the feral Vessel’s steps. From their wild sibling, the twins felt it. An ancient, primal, undeniable desire to kill, to consume. It was frightening. They felt it inside them too, but not this intense. Sibling was silent, focused. Less than a meter away from the bug, the wild child jumped, hands wide open, claws at the ready. They landed on the retainer’s face, gripping his head, feet on his belly, tail swaying to keep their balance as their prey began to struggle to get them away. The gardener fell on his back, trying to pry the Vessel of them, Vessel who was now viciously scratching his shell and clothes, aiming to bite his throat, spattering blood everywhere._

_Thrown away by an arm strengthened by the disease, the feral Vessel hit an archway with the base of their wings, gasping under the contact. Hallow ran to the bloodied retainer who got up and took a sickle in one hand. The young knight dodged to the side et hit one leg. The servant flinched a bit. Ghost made a sign to Hornet to hide in a bush and joined their twin. Both princes were now engaging in the fight. Each hitting in succession, exchanging roles and positions. They were trained to work together, a fighting style complemented with their void mind. What they were not trained for was to accommodate a third link into the action. Feral snapped out of their landing and was nipping at their foe, moving between the twins. They came close to collide with each other a few times, the one time too many Ghost grabbed Hallow in their arms to take them away as the possessed swung his sickle and ripped the gray cloak, leaving a scratch on the Vessel’s leg. Black droplets of void blood staining the luxurious greens on the gardens. Anger. More than anger. Rage. Hallow was furious their sibling was hurt because of them! It looked shallow and superficial, but still! It was a wound!_

_A hiss resounded in the Vessel’s minds and invisible ears. The feral one was hissing and snarling at the garden’s retainer, monopolizing his attention. Anger was coming from them too. That big beast hurt the others! It was simpler concepts, for a simpler way of living, although, Ghost and Hallow knew Feral realized it, even if not consciously. The wild Vessel was seething. As if they were a different being, tendrils of black elevated from their back, lashing out furiously around them. The servant yelled and slashed at them, cutting respawning tendrils as the void child jumped at his face again and bit one eye, ripped it off as the appendages cut his shell again and again, amputating one arm and even breaking a leg. The sick bug stayed on the ground this time, muttering incomprehensible laments as the black child tore away his lower jaw, corrupted blood pouring on the grass and cobblestones. The enemy was no longer a threat._

_Ghost concentrated on their wound, focusing their mind, glowing with a slight white aura around their body. The wound closed little by little and, very soon, no more blood. Hornet exited her hiding place to hug her siblings._

_“Is… is he…?” she asked looking at her stepmother’s servant._

_No answer. No audible answer. Ghost held closer tighter to their chest. Hallow approached the lost Vessel slowly, carefully. They were still growling, fixated on the dying bug. Hallow entered their field of vision. They looked at them. It was over. The fight was over. No one was hurt. He was just a regular bug._

Hallow shuffled a bit on the bedsheets. They were pondering. About Feral, about the retainer, about the Infection the adults mentioned. Ghost caught up on their uneasiness and pressed their back against their twin’s. The Vessels were raised for one thing, one goal. They were aware of it, since the day Father brought them to the Palace, knighted them, and every day thereafter. Him being distant, impersonal. His fatherly love consisted of tips when training, gently correcting their mistakes, never engaging in casual conversation, always his kingly persona. And them, wanting him to be proud, wanting him to acknowledge them, his faithful Vessels, ready to obey his commands, to play the puppet. Far from their immaculate home, a sibling lived in the wilds, no Father to please and Kingdom to save, but no Hornet to play tag with, and no Mother’s embrace in her courtyard while sipping a cup of hot cocoa and playing language-based games.

They saw how nature raised their lost sibling. Nature was not kind. Feral was aggressive towards what they perceived as a threat, cautious when a friendly gesture was shown to them, and vicious when they had to fight. The numerous wounds and the state of their ripped wings were testaments to their lifestyle.

_Feral was still growling, even at Hallow. The prince approached them haltingly until they were close enough to hear the retainer’s sobs drowned in his blood-filled throat. Hallow extended a hand to their smaller sibling._

_It’s okay, said Hallow. It’s over. The fight is over. You can calm down._

_They tried to send waves of relief, to appease. The growls became lower and lower, until they were no more, silence and bared fangs who disappeared when the wild Vessel closed their mouth. Hallow reached for the head, stroking it gently, watching Feral turn away from the Infection’s victim. The knight guided them to their siblings and to the tree. Mother loved to say she had a connection to nature, hence why this place was so dear to her. The stain of corrupted blood and void did not go unnoticed, she must be aware that something transpired here. The children had a bit of time before their parents showed up._

_While the twins were surveying the surroundings, Hornet was patting and trying to clean Feral. Her other half-siblings were not better, orange droplets of infected blood on their cloak and wooden nails._

_“You’re so dirty!” blamed Hornet. “I can’t clean you; my cloak is not big enough.”_

_The wild void child would need a good bath to get rid of all of this! But it was not likely to happen. The feral sibling lifted their head and look in the direction of the dying gardener, still, as if waiting for something._

_“What is i…”_

_The small princess did not finish her question. The Vessel bounced on their four limbs and ran in the bush, with no glance back. Hornet got up to follow them but Hallow held her arm, a finger in front of their mouth, as a ‘shush’. Let Feral go._

_“We have to tell!” retorqued the juvenile spider._

_Hallow nodded no. Do not tell the parents. None of the kids knew how it would go if the third Vessel’s existence was made public by accident. Keep it a secret. Between siblings. Until, one day, they may find the lost one again. The prince was clearly seeing that Hornet was not thrilled with this. She had the time to wave goodbye to a gone Feral before voices reached them._

_“Vessels!”_

_“Hornet!”_

_“Ghost! Hallow!”_

_The royal children turned their back from the bushes to look at their parents. Herrah picked Hornet, the Pale King, and White Lady a Vessel each, wasting no time to assess their physical condition._

_“You’re filthy!” reproached the Spider Queen to her daughter. “What happened here? Wyrm? Root? What happened to your retainer?”_

_The King passed Ghost to his wife to look at the victim. He was at death’s door. Scratches and bite marks on his legs, more pronounced on his face and throat. What wounded him? It looked like a wild beast attacked this unfortunate soul._

Soft knocks on their bedroom door. Mother entered, her pale light not as blinding as Father’s. It was dinnertime. Washed up and hungry, the twins did not hesitate to snuggle in their mother’s arms, enjoying her warmth and kisses, loving to be carried. She seemed more serious than what they were used to. No doubt it was because of today. She and Father lost a big chunk of their good mood. Dinner was most likely to somber than usual. At the table, the royal couple did not deign to talk much. For Ghost and Hallow, it was an awkward moment, the silence broken by the metallic clattering of utensils on silver plates. They loved their training sessions with the Great Knights, though they never wished it happened so soon before! The atmosphere was heavy, almost difficult to breathe. They were tired. They wanted to go back to their bed and sleep. Enjoy a new morning and a new day. But after today… how could they not feel off about themselves?

Their plate finished, and dinner too, slipping under the bedsheets felt so good. Hugging each other, like every night and in their shared egg, Ghost and Hallow desired to fall asleep.

_You think they will be okay?_ timidly asked Ghost.

_I’m sure they will_ , replied Hallow.

_They were hungry, covered in wounds, their wings…_

Hallow softly pressed their head against Ghost’s, sharing a soothing warmth to calm their twin. It was going to be okay. Tomorrow was a new day, for all of them. Vessels were children of gods. When Ghost fell asleep, Hallow let more concerning thoughts wander, for Ghost was right to be worried; there was only so much someone could fend off when no one was by your side to teach you about the world. Feral was covered in wounds and the twins came to the same conclusion.

The wild Vessel did _not_ know how to use the essence of soul to heal their injuries.

Dinner has been… quiet this evening. Even Root was less talkative, that was saying something. The Vessels in bed, Wyrm was back in his workshop. He could not focus, his eyes wandered from tool to unfinished project to scribbled notes on silk or stone, his two pairs of hands fidgeting with no direction. He would not accomplish any progress for the rest of the day, whatever the task. The stack of silk rolls on one shelf caught his attention. Arranged in a neat orderly pile, he always kept an eye on it, one of the most precious works he had. For it was the rolls on which he transcribed his and Grimm’s knowledge of vessels and the Old Light.

Why had Grimm decided to help him? The goal was to seal the Radiance, let the Void choke her forever. Why was her own brother, her _twin_ , helping a wyrm in a plan where the end result would most likely be her death? The dark moth was probably in a neighbouring kingdom, wandering as he pleased. The two kings had not met for years, not since the Nightmare’s warning. Wyrm was certain his plan was working as intended. His Vessels were growing steadily, in skills and talent. They had to; the Infection was not stopping anytime soon. The numbers were still low and manageable, but it spread to her Gardens.

_The King looked back over his shoulder. Hornet was clinging to her mother, her little face hidden in Herrah’s shawl. Root was stroking the Vessels. None were looking in his direction. A small flash of white light left place to a silver nail in the King’s hand._

_“O Ancient Gods of ages and kingdoms past,” began praying Wyrm with a soft voice. “Guide my blade and make it strike true. To free this lost soul with dignity and pride. To release his spirit and grant him peace. So, it can be.”_

_The blow was clean and swift. The retainer stopped breathing, his eyes losing their tainted light. The King closed them and banished his soul nail. The poor one had suffered enough. Wyrm was uneasy. Possessed bugs showing up with no real pattern was usual, but not in the Gardens of his Root, where her godly influence was palpable to him. The Old Light was becoming angrier and bolder by the moment. He would have to revise the training of his Vessels._

_He saw the stains of corrupted blood and the tears on their cloak. They fought the gardener. Yet, some of his wounds did not add up. The twins had training wooden nail. They packed a punch when they hit but had no edge. The Pale King noticed the marks of blunt impact, accompanied by lacerations and punctures. As if a wild beast attacked the servant before he found the royal children. The wounds were fresh. All made around the same time. Tiny claw scratches and fangs wounds. Really small. Same size. Same patterns. All from the same creature? Uncommon was the beast of small stature foolish enough to attack a prey many times its size. Unless the beast was far stronger than its appearance showed._

_He looked again at his Vessels. Maybe… maybe he guessed how it turned out. The twins fought the retainer with their nails and when their weapons proved ineffective, they switched to their natural arsenal. Light and Shadow were opposites. Them being of void made sense they would fight more arduously against someone possessed by Her. One detail, though… neither one of the twins had blood on their chin when they arrived. Something else did this…_

But _what_!? This missing piece was bothering him so much, he was restless! He had to find out! A heavy sigh left his lungs as he put all his hands on his table. He was _not_ going to sleep well tonight. His mind wandered to Hornet. The way she made herself small in her mother’s arms, not crying, seeking safety.

“…”

_It was not really an autopsy, there was not much to uncover. Wyrm walked back to his little unusual family, stopping in front of The Beast. He knew not how to ask this; the hybrid infant spent more time with her mother because a mother’s touch was crucial to a child and he did not want his daughter to be deprived of it. Hornet decided for her parents, leaping from one pair of arms to the next, nuzzling in his robes. He shivered. His daughter_ chose _him,_ sought _him, even for a moment! She was so small, so fragile! Back turned to his Vessels, he was unable to see them share a look and a smile. He held her as much as she wanted, her muddied cloak staining his white clothes but that did not matter. He held her before, when she was a newborn, when she stayed at the Palace and needed to be carried away from a mess. Those occasions made him feel lighter, but none as intense as this moment. Too low to be heard by bugs, a growl has been humming in his throat, a sound the White Lady knew to be happiness, as she was able to perceive with her godly nature. The purr of wyrms he so often did all those centuries ago when he was courting her before Hallownest came to be._

_Hornet took her time in her dad’s arms, soothed by her father’s purr due to her paternal heritage. He was sterner and more formal than Mama, but when he interacted with her, it was gentle, even clumsy, with the genuinely good intentions of someone not used to deal with children. She did not know a lot about her father, he did not talk about his past, and Mama had nothing more to add either. It was with reluctance that the Pale King gave Herrah back their offspring._

_“Go back to the gazebo,” he demanded of everyone. “I will join you after taking care of this.”_

_So, they could finish the picnic and process what happened. He went to fetch some retainers to clean up the area thoroughly, supervising. Once they were done, he dismissed the bugs and joined his ladies and barely surviving meal under the assault of a hungry spiderling. The contrast between the two portraits was clashing so hard, reminding Wyrm of the lingering presence of the Moth Goddess. The children were alright, none was badly hurt. Attempts at learning what happened resulted in Hornet’s muffling answers through a mouth full of honey cookies before she swallowed with the help of a few sips of juice._

_Her account was simple: the retainer was already wounded when he found them, the Vessels fought him back until he fell on the ground and the adults arrived. Story corroborated by the nodding of Ghost and Hallow when asked directly if the princess was speaking the truth. And so, the adults tried to make the rest of the little family moment as enjoyable as earlier. The children did not need to concern themselves with everything for now…_

The door opened to let her Majesty enter the atelier, finding her husband sleeping, his upper half laying on the table. She took him in her arms and brought him to their quarters, laying him on their bed. He was worrying so much he was exhausting himself. They had quite a day. She made a mental note to convince him to relax for a few days, to rest.

“My dear Cyrus,” whispered the Queen whose eyes glowed with love. “It made me fall in love with you, your desire to help others. Think about yourself, for a few days. I will always be your Root, at your side.”

She gave him a kiss on a cheek before embracing him and slipping in her owns dreams, as he curled his tail around her in his slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for stories where PK is not a bad father, he just had to distance himself from his offspring to ensure his plan's success, despite wanting children.
> 
> From Ghost and Hallow's memories of the Abyss, they, and Feral, are the only Vessels to hatch at all, no shades haunt the area. Those three are the only survivors.


	5. Baptised By Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wandering Vessel finds a wandering family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote half of this chapter yesterday but it did not feel right, so I rewrote everything from the moment the Vessel falls asleep and it came out more naturally.
> 
> I am not used to writing dramatic characters, so I apologize in advance for my Grimm. I also see Brumm more often than Divine. Now I'm taking a few days to make my drawings. I have four chapters to cover!

A lonely figure was strolling on the rocky mountain path. It had left the luxurious greens of the Gardens and traveled through the lively vegetation of the area known in Hallownest as Greenpath. The tips of his small horns burned by one of the few times it fell in a pool of acidic water, its wings eaten away to their base on its back, it still continued to wander. Time had passed since the last Vessel hatched in the Abyss. They did not know how long it has been, but if they could ask their siblings, the answer would be almost four years. Since they found the Gardens of Her Majesty, they discovered light, bright light, was a thing, and it shared time with darkness. So many times, day and night exchanged places since they left this civilized place and lived in Greenpath, avoiding the traffic of merchant caravans and pilgrims, withdrawing themselves from the orderly organization. Greenpath was full of wildlife, of nimble or clumsy prey. The bigger dangers were the acidic water and thorny vines in the most secluded parts of these caverns.

They never had a fixed home. They went where their curiosity took them, and it took them to even higher grounds of rocky walls and sandy ground. The gentle breeze below was now a fierce cold wind lashing out furiously. And cold it was. For the first time, they experienced the chill of the outside gale. They were hungry. They sought prey and snacked on a few vengeflies, barely a few bites, their stomach growling as they walked against the air currents carrying dust in their eyeholes and open panting mouth. No ceiling above. It was black, strewn with white glowing spots. It looked so high, unreachable. They saw no wall tall enough to reach. Was the climb of their birthplace as elevated? Where they rested when they could no longer move on? They had to find a safe spot to lay down and recover, they were in no state to hunt. No mushy light nor fruit to eat to appease their hunger. They had days like this. They survived. They recalled the day they found the small creatures. The food they were given. It was the most delicious thing they ever had. To have some of it again…

A scent carried by the wind crossed them. A scent of food. What food? It did not matter. It made their belly cry even, drooling as they followed the volatile trail to see a group of big pointy things, a darker colour than the food-giving bug clothes. The smell was coming from these. Entranced, the Vessel willed their body to move, trudging one limb at a time, to the nearest red pointy hill, noticing they could slip under it. It was soft on their black body, must be cloth, like civilized bugs wore. The aroma was so potent in this enclosed space, its source left alone with no surveillance. The feral Vessel did not know what the dark brown thing was, but there was food on it, and they could no longer resist!

The void child ran and jumped, landing on the food, gulping it without chewing. It was _so_ good! So tasty! There was so much! Bite after bite, the happiness of filling their belly was overwhelming! Tail wagging with euphoria, they chowed down everything, licking every scrap, every bit, everything! The only food they did not finish was the brown liquid. A few licks and they backed down, knocking the object over and spilling its content. That thing was _not_ good. It was hot and _bitter_! They retched and gagged, walking away from the mess they created. They felt heavy, so heavy. They never ate that much. The small hill of red rocks was intriguing and what a surprise to find out these were soft! So… comfortable… They laid down, holding their tail with their limbs against their belly, falling asleep amongst the pile of cushy things for they were so tired…

“What _happened_ here!?” boomed a voice. “Brumm? Brumm!”

Deep within the pillows, the Vessel woke up, startled. Right now, they were so glad to be mute, as the ruffling sound of cloth was drowned by the steps and searching around by a new bug like they never saw before. Back turned to them, head pivoting to scan the place until a second bug made his apparition. The first one, who spoke loudly, was tall and thin, from behind he was black, wearing a cloak of frayed edges and spiked collar, black horns on his head of a similar shape to their top ones on their mask. As he turned around, the child was able to look at his front. Thin he still was, on long clawed legs. The inside of the cloak attached to his arms was a deep red, matched by the abdominal plates, his torso and shoulders covered in scarlet fur, his face white with two large almond eyes crossed by a black line thicker on the forehead and thinner near his chin, framing a displeased mouth filled by sharp fangs. His eyes paralyzed the Vessel. Red. Rich vibrant crimson with glowing slit pupils.

The second, the one the wild child presumed was the Brumm the terrifying figure called, was shorter but larger at the shoulders, stripped thick arms switching between two shades of gray, an oval mask sporting the same lines as the black one, wearing a hood and a dark red fur on his upper torso. The odd object he held when entering was soon laid down so he could assist his summoner.

“What it is, mrmm, Master Grimm?”

Said Grimm looked furious.

“Something or _someone_ made a mess in my quarters and I intend on _finding_ the culprit!” he responded with a fretful voice.

Brumm examined the tent with a glance, noticing only the table was in disarray, but none was to disturb the Master’s quarters. For an outsider it would seem trivial but, for the Troupe, it was an offense to intrude in someone’s else tent without any form of consent.

The tiny red sparks crackling between the air of his fur were not reassuring for the Vessel who tried to dive deeper into the sea of cushions to avoid being spotted. Without accounting for the fact that they left a trail of dirt and dust behind them. The feeling of been stared at in plain sight. So frightened, flashes of memories in the dark tunnels deep below where they ran from giant armoured beasts, assailed by fear, they froze in terror when both bugs uncovered them from their hiding place. Panting, panicked, they reacted on instinct when the black and crimson Grimm extended a hand in their direction and lunged to bite it with all their might.

“!”

He retracted his arms, rubbing the spot where fangs left indentations in his shell without puncturing it. The Vessel jumped on the occasion to dash away, slipping under the table, knocked on the side as Brumm threw a pillow at them to disorient them. The void child got back on their paws, trying to find a new way out. It was a game of cat and mouse, as they attempted to ambush the intruder many times. These two were not tired, not as they were. Tongue hanging out, panting heavily, their movements were getting clumsier, and their enemies knew their territory. The small child did not want to believe they were cornered, unable to escape. A misstep made them trip and fall, at last. Getting up again was excruciating, pain throbbing everywhere. For a fleeting moment, they were standing as fiercely as they could manage, breathing wheezily, before their trembling limbs gave up. They did not get up again. They did not have the strength, emptied by their mountainous journey.

Vision blurred, they opposed no resistance when the one called Grimm picked them up off the floor and delicately brushed a bit of dirt from their filthy mask. The irritation they saw earlier gave place for curiosity and something they remember seeing a while ago when they met two creatures like themselves. _Worry_.

“Brumm.” spoke the cloaked bug.

“Mrmm? Yes, Master?”

“Bring back a small tub, warm water, and dry towels, please.”

“As you wish,” nodded Brumm before leaving.

Grimm walked to the pile of pillows, crossed his legs, cradling the child against the fur of his torso, his eyes scanning the juvenile bug. The Vessel nuzzled closer. So tired… It was warm… not the warmth of the Gardens or Greenpath… warm like the little, red-cloaked bug who gave them food… This tall bug radiated like her, warmer, but the same kind. It felt good. It felt… _safe_. Not the safety of a hidden hole big enough to sleep in, they did not know how to process it, it was new to them, but they felt at peace. Half-asleep, they just moved without thinking.

The Master’s eyes widen, dumbfounded, when he felt little paws grasping, no… _kneading_ at his fur with a faint voiceless purr. What _was_ this child? Intruding his tent, eating his food, dirtying the place, trying to escape, and now relaxing in his arm? It was a peculiar one, no doubt about that! Grimm began to stroke his forehead in circular motions with his thumb. He could see nothing in the eye socket of the mask. Every bug’s eyes he met reflected light, but not this one. No light shone back, as if absorbed by the blackness within, even on their shell, to a lesser degree. This young one reminded him of something…

The muted sound of cloth being pushed aside followed by steps and a wooden tub placed on the floor broke his train of thought. He stood up, lightly shaking the toddler to wake them a little, lowering them in the warm water. The child grabbed his fur with their diminutive claws, refusing to be laid down, whimpering with no sound, freezing in place when the tip of their tail touched the surface of the clear liquid. Grimm had noticed the roughness of their mask and body, it looked like acid burns. He continued to descend the trembling child until their hindquarters rested on the bottom of the tub, water up to their torso.

The lone child stared at Grimm. They did not understand. Every time they touched liquid outside a prey’s body it ate away at them, burned them, but not here. This one was warmer than the cloaked Grimm’s embrace. Its transparency mudded by caked blood and dirt.

“It calmed down,” pointed out Brumm who sat down beside his master.

“They’re exhausted,” added Grimm while rubbing a cloth on the child to get them rid of all the accumulated grime. “Almost passed out before you came back.”

“Mrmm, do you think it’s a child of one of the locals?”

“No.”

“Why so?” asked the large bug, perplexed.

Grimm pointed a finger at the head of the youngling. Where the filth was washed away, the shell was glistening under the soft light of the room, a silvery shell… on a perfectly black infantile body.

“You did not meet him, Brumm, but centuries ago, I had a pupil,” answered Grimm. “A prodigy, gifted in the art of magic, a skilled craftsman. We met far away from Hallownest, he had no place to call home although he searched for one. He was no bug, back then.”

He smiled when the child rubbed his cheek against the cloth, short tail wagging slowly underwater.

“A gargantuan beast, a titan, slithering on and underground, a serpentine body covered in scales like an armour. His home destroyed by another one of his kind. He was wounded, so I helped him. To thank me, he joined the Troupe.”

“How did he help, Master? Mrmm, sounds as if he had no limbs and was far too big.” pondered Brumm.

“He shed,” tenderly explained Grimm, his smile widening as he lifted the child from the bathtub to dry them in his arms. “We were here, in Hallownest, at the western edge of the kingdom. He asked me to wait for him, so the Troupe stood guard and I watched over him, his coiled body stilled, until the day I saw something emerge from his fanged mouth. Smaller, smaller than I, but I recognized him right away, the same horned crown, the same colour, he even kept a tail. Everything else changed: he gained six limbs, two legs and four arms, and six wings…”

The furry bug directed Brumm eye between the shoulder of the discreet child, where the remnants of three pairs of wings were still visible.

“My pupil was a sight for sore eyes,” pursued Grimm cradling the dried-up small black bug back in his arms. “You see, my dear Brumm, bugs are born a variety of colours. But he… was the silvery-white of a full moon, glowing like my sister, with none of the warmth. From silver scales to silver shell. Just. Like. This. Child.”

He wrapped said child in wings, their slow and steady breath a sign they were in a deep slumber.

“I met him as _Cyrus_ , the Pale Dragon, a _wyrm_ ,” revealed Grimm to his subordinate. “Today, people know him as the _Pale King_ , Lord of Hallownest. And we, my dear, found his _child_.”

Silence fell in the tent, choking any tries of Brumm to say something for what felt an hour or two. His master was grinning with glee. The creature who intruded into their camp was a royal heir?!

“Mas..” began the stripped bug, but Grimm stopped him with a finger between his eyes.

“Shh…” whispered the black and crimson one. “Tomorrow.”

“As you wish, Master.” conceded Brumm.

He took his belongings and left the tent, leaving Grimm alone with the child, who went to the mountain of pillows, laying down, keeping his finding beside him as he wrapped them both in his leathery wings.

“My, my, Cyrus,” he spoke softly to not disturb his newfound ward. “Such _magnificent_ craftmanship…”

Tonight, the winds howled over the cliffs above the trading town of Dirtmouth from beyond the kingdom, singing their icy tune to whoever could hear it. Yet, in one of the tents of a small camp of nomads, a wandering Vessel was sheltered from such chilling touch, and, for the first time, slept peacefully under the protection of someone else.

And so, it was in this camp that a Vessel woke up, yawning, late in the morning. They never slept so well. Rubbing their face, they looked around to get their bearings. Laying on their back, something they never did before, the feel of something soft on their black body. Not moving, they looked up and crossed eyes with the bug laying with them. Grimm briefly glanced at the child before returning to the opened book in his hand, finished reading a few pages, and put it away. What to do? What to do!? The Vessel stayed still. Maybe he would go away. Losing interest. Yes! Yes, he would!

He _didn’t_.

Instead, Grimm lifted them, and they let him do, for they were too scared to dare anything, but a thought surfaced in their mind: they were asleep, and no one _attacked_ them! They were at their most fragile and they remembered laying down with them! Did… did he slept at their side, a watchful eye guarding them? It never happened before. They were always alone before. What was this feeling choking their throat, making them tremble in the arms and soothing fur of this intimidating stranger staring at them with his fiery eyes?

 _Relief_.

They _wanted_ to stay here. They felt _safe_ here!

“Shh… it’s alright… it’s alright my dear.” said Grimm in a soft hushed voice. “I’m sure you must be hungry, let’s eat.”

Snap.

A Grimmkin entered the tent and put two platters on the table. The smell was enticing, making the Vessel drool and lick their mouth. Grimm was a fast bug, but not a fast-enough-to-catch-a-black-bolt-of-empty-stomach one. The feral child landed on the floor and jumped to devour the breakfast, leaving Grimm flabbergasted in front of such swinish display. They were not even using their hands, like any child he ever knew, dirtying themselves already! He sighed, went to sit at his table, and drank his cup of coffee, took a lucky buttered toast, and munched it while watching his charge finish their meal and lick their hands. They let him clean their face, purring, beaming from having a filled belly, tail wagging. Grimm could not repress a chuckle. They were adorable, he was _melting_!

“Come here,” he beckoned, extending his arms around the Vessel. “I want you to meet your aunts and uncles.”

They jumped and put their arms around his neck. Grimm passed through the exit of his private tent, blinking under the bright rays of sunlight while the Vessel hid their face in his fur until both bugs’ eyes adjusted to the daylight. This place was so different from last night! So many bugs walking around, using tools, talking, doing chores, their daily lives at play.

Then _everyone_ stopped their activities, conversations, and looked at their leader and what he was holding in his arms.

“What?” gawked the troupe leader with a shocked face.

No one uttered a single word until Brumm stood up to face Grimm and the large bug beside him, one wearing the half of a mask, crawled with surprising speed to the late risers.

“Oh, Master! They’re so lovely! You’re so lovely you little sweetie!” was cooing the new bug, her face too close to theirs, the Vessel reacting by trying to hide in Grimm’s fur. “So cute, and adorable, and…”  
“Divine, please,” pleaded Grimm gesturing her to back down a few steps. “They’re not used to being in presence of others.”

The one called Divine obeyed without question.

“When did you found the lovely, Master?” she asked, on behalf of everyone else. “We saw no lovely like this one since we arrived.”

The troupe’s Master cleared his throat, assessing that each and every one of his was listening: “This child snuck in my tent yesterday evening, making a mess. I have suspicions about them, so hear me and listen closely; this child is a Vessel.”

Whispers ran amok throughout the crowd before dying out when Grimm raised a hand.

“I know you can see their mask, their shell,” he continued. “Some of you may recognize their glow, some of you will not. Yes, Divine?”

She had raised a clawed arm to the sky, cheerfully waving it to catch her master’s attention.

“They shine like Cyrus!” she exclaimed. “They even have a tail like _him_!”

Grimm waited for the bugs to finish talking among themselves, stroking the child’s back.

“And I have my reasons for agreeing with Divine,” he added. “Last year, we stopped our travels on the White Palace Grounds, blessed with the presence of Her Majesty the Queen one evening. We had… a little chat. Accompanying her, were hers and the King’s two children, _twins_. Although not identical to the one I’m holding, they looked awfully alike. A body as black as the deepest ravine, a glowing shell with empty eyes… and _mute_ , like our little friend right here.”

The feral child turned around to look at everyone. It was strange to be the center of attention. Strange. But not _unwelcomed_.

“Oh! Are they… are they...!?” jubilated Divine, giggling like a toddler.

“Yes, they are!” declared Grimm, with the widest smile he ever had. “I know Cyrus’ touch, despite all these years, and I have no doubt for meeting his offspring that this Vessel is indeed one of his children, bearer of the Pale Wyrm’s Light! So, I say, let my former pupil raise his children as he sees fit! He can keep his twins! But we, we _welcome_ a new member! A survivor! A _godling_! Who will be raised by the flames of the Nightmare! I take this lost wyrmchild as my _own_ and name them _Ashling_ of the Grimm Troupe!”

The Vessel was startled by the loud cheers, reassured by Grimm who held them closer, the crowd dancing under the announcement. They gazed at the one who self-proclaimed himself their caretaker who looked at them in return.

“Now then, let’s see what clothes would befit you the _best_ , my child,” purred the Troupemaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone finally got named after four years of living in the wilderness! Old habits die hard, Troupemaster, hope you're prepared!


	6. How To Train Your Vessel Part 1 - Establish A Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tips and tricks for the family about raising a feral wyrm child.  
> First advice: lots of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I stay vague because this is where I had no solid idea of when and where things happen. I never said I thought writing a story was easy, the love of my life is a writer to be and I saw him struggle a lot with parts he did not feel and I'm entering the same territory.
> 
> Also, here is where I begin to %?@ with the canon and you will all see what I mean.

“Master?”

“Yes, Divine?”

“Are you… feeling _alright_?”

Grimm took a long and loud sip of coffee, Divine waiting patiently for him to finish and he was _dragging_ it! Finished, he clacked his tongue. He had a few guilty pleasures; hot beverages were one.

“Yes,” he answered with a tired smile, “ _why_ do you ask?”

The female termite turned her head upwards to look at the head of the Troupemaster. Perched on the moth’s head and shoulders was a small _wyrmchild_ , wearing an ashen fur collar and black cloak frayed at the edges, thin painted black lines over its eyes on its silver mask, clutching firmly to his head, _chewing_ his right horn. Divine could see _saliva_.

“Humm… you see,” she hesitated, “Ashling is biting your head”

May as well say the obvious.

“They’re teething-“said Grimm who took another sip-“don’t worry; they’re not using their fangs.”

“Huh?”

Seeing they had all of Divine's attention, Ashling opened their mouth. All the fortune-teller saw was their jaw, their gums, and their tongue. No fangs, as is they vanished. She startled a bit when said fangs _erupted_ from under the child’s gums to retract shortly after because Ashling resumed their activity.

“By the way, Master… how many cups?” inquired Divine.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Maybe you can fool the others, but you can’t fool me,” she warned him with a chirpy voice. “I know when you are tired or not.”

Grimm replied with a ‘hmmm’, stirring his cup. She wasn’t wrong. It already has been a week since they left Hallownest’s Cliffs, traveling west. They crossed the sandy dunes of the Barren Desert and just arrived at the edge of a forest, stopping beside a stream to recover. The Grimmsteeds were laying on the grass, lazily looking at those walking in front of them. Throughout the journey, Grimm kept an eye on his ward. He was counting on Ashling’s habit of staying close when they were in an unknown place, for the Vessel never strayed far from him in the day or two before the troupe departed. The feral child preferred to stay by the black moth’s side, and Grimm let them do as they pleased, indulging the Vessel for the time being.

Socializing was going at a tiktik’s pace. They did not know words, the rules of language, and the art of wordsmithing, they did not know how to read body language, but the Nightmare had one useful trick in his sleeve: Grimm knew the tongue of dragons, for Cyrus _taught_ him how to speak it when the wyrm was traveling with the circus. It was not easy on the vocal cords and the throat, he was rusty, but he remembered more than enough of the ancient dialect and a piece of information he never thought would be so useful.

A dragon is _born_ with the innate comprehension of his tongue.

And, as a child of a Wyrm and a Root, Ashling _reacted_ by turning their head to look at their adopted father when Grimm spoke their name in wyrmtongue, the day before they left Hallownest. Brumm, who was present, denied it by saying the Vessel could have reacted to something else, to stay stunned when Grimm called to his child to sit in front of him. He had to accompany the words by a movement of his hand, but it was a gesture for coming over, not sit once they came over. It was a start.

Grimm moseyed away from the camp, Ashling still chewing his horns. Divine was right about him being tired. He was not exhausted, his was attention was focused on raising his wyrmchild, but he _did_ sleep less since, staying awake until they fell asleep and waking up before they did. How many coffees this morning? Bets were waging among the troupe members on how many cups he drank during the day. It was _only_ the third one. The moth stopped when he saw the bank of the stream. Ashling stopped teething, eyes fixed on the clear water. Their father managed to keep them neat and proper, the void child discovering they loved baths. Ashling climbed down and landed on the grass, sniffing around them.

“The water is shallow,” told them Grimm, “we leave tomorrow. You can go swim if you _want_ to”

Ashling looked at him, head tilted on the side. They bumped it softly on his leg before looking at the stream again. The Troupemaster was not surprised by their reaction. From what he saw, the Vessel had no concept of ‘playing’, yet. He would have to remedy this conundrum. Ah well… he had time. Just taking things slowly and letting them evolve, curious of what kind of bug was really his child. Both stayed beside the stream for a while, enough for the sun to climb all the way above their head, casting shadows under their bodies. Listening to the sound of leaves and water, enjoying a serene moment between father and child. Grimm signaled the Vessel it was time to leave when he heard their stomach growl. Going back to the troupe, Ashling stayed on the ground, trotting alongside their dad, daring to distance themselves when they saw something interesting to return after. Grimm had noticed how the distance was increasing, inch by inch, as the wyrmchild got used to their surroundings, like someone he knew so well so, so long ago…

Moments like these would find themselves common when the Troupe was not busy practicing for their evening shows nor actively traveling. As their youngest member was getting used to the disparate group of performers, Ashling would accept their hugs and kisses depending on how they were feeling socially. Still staying far from Divine; her high-pitched voice always startled them if they were not expecting her. For Ashling, finding the circus was an accident they did not regret. They were fed, kept warm, loved, cuddled, and protected. They stopped by a few places. Nothing the wyrmchild bothered to remember. More than often, people would not mingle with their newfound family, watch them from the corner of their eyes, whispering to not attract attention. Yet, those bugs still came to the performances, cheering, whistling, demanding more. Ashling could not grasp how and why.

Dad let them stay late only if he was joining their aunts and uncles with his dance number. Those nights, the Vessel stayed within the backstage, watching the shows. They loved the acrobatics of the mantises quadruplets, the aerial loops and pirouettes of the surprising agile pillbugs who seamlessly switch places between the performer and the ball, Brumm’s music with his accordion while Divine was not being terrifying and sang with a voice they only heard when she was on stage. The nights the Vessel was allowed to stay late were the best. When Brumm sits beside them like a watchful guardian and they walked to the cloth wall, as the lights go out and a ‘snap’ resonates throughout the main tent.

The nights Ashling was allowed to stay up were the _best_. Because those were the nights when _Dad_ was on stage! As he snaps his finger and the lights flash red, floating across the scene, juggling and dancing with his scarlet flames, captivating the audience, in his dance blending a solo and duel, his wings following his every move, the sound of his steps, the rhythm changing between fast and slow. It was not every show night the Troupemaster graced spectators with his presence. Nights like this, Ashling felt they were the _luckiest_ child, to have Grimm as a father, standing on their feet and trying to imitate the moth’s dance, purring in his arms after his performance as they go back to their tent to sleep.

The fire was crackling in the dark night, after such a show, as Brumm was playing his favorite tune, stopping when a tall figure sat by his side.

“Mrmm, it has become uncommon for you to stay up this late, Master,” remarked the musician.

“It has been a few weeks,” agreed the nightmare moth stretching his arms over his head.

“How do you _feel_ their progress? In the months since?” inquired Brumm resuming his music.

Grimm stared at the fire a moment before talking: “I have not been a child myself for _decades_ , even less a feral one. My antics were more… physical in my youth.”

“Mrmm…”

 _Like the time you spat a fireball at a noble’s face when he insulted to colour of your wings…_ thought Brumm.

“You do speak to them in _wyrmtongue_ , don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, as much as I can. It is a difficult language to master and the vocalizations are harsh,” explained Grimm, “my throat ache at the end of _each_ day. After all, I was not meant to speak it. My godly nature and patience made it possible, not to forget I had a very _appropriate_ teacher, but Ashling _can’t_ solely rely on it. On the good side, they began to understand more complex concepts and sentences, same with the common tongue.”

Brumm’s mumbling was tinted by happiness.

“They do react more when they’re talked to, responding physically, even questions about themselves,” he said.

“Hard part is giving them the tools to _understand_ their emotions,” added Grimm still looking at the dancing flames, “and express them _efficiently_. Some are easier, we all know when they’re happy or angry, but they lack the words, and when you have a child who can’t talk because of the way it was _made_ … they have to communicate with their body… and Ashling’s mask is too _rigid_ for any facial expression, they would have to…” the moth slowed down and straightened up.

“Do what, mrmm Master?”

“I’m such an _idiot_!” blurted Grimm standing up like he was stung by a wasp. “ _Sign language_! How did I _not_ think of that before!?”

“Mrmm, Ashling is usually reserved and keep to themselves. Unless _you_ are the one performing,” pointed out his second-in-command. “When you dance, they _mirror_ you behind the wall, only sounds are their breath or when they lose their balance.”

Grimm was smiling with glee, the joy often seen in the pride of parents of young ones. He had better think about how he was going to homeschool his Vessel to the next level! The next stop was the lovely coastal town of Cloudwater, a nice hub of trading goods. While everyone was shopping, he could bring Ashling for a _tour_.

“It is getting late,” stated the moth. “Don’t go to sleep too late, my dear.”

Brumm replied with a chuckle before dowsing the campfire.

Swaying with the wheels of the wagon on the stone road, Ashling was looking at the trees, arms dangling over the edge of Dad’s vehicle pulled by two Grimmsteeds. Dad said they were going to another place, one with fewer trees and a lot of water, where the sun shined brightly, and the ground was soft as a pillow. They did not believe Dad because the ground was _firm_! If the ground was soft, the cart would _sink_ and the Grimmsteeds would have trouble carrying everyone! They patted Dad’s back and huffed. They have been on the road for a while, longer than what they were used to, and they were getting bored. Tapping the wagon’s side like a drum was fun but it became dull after a few hours. Not getting anything from Dad, they patted again, insisting. Still nothing! The wyrmchild opened their mouth and _bit_ the edge of Dad’s cloak and pulled while growling, annoyed of being ignored.

“Y̵͓͘͜ö̷̯̺̩u̵̠͆̔ ̵̍̚ͅŵ̶̨ḭ̵̺̎l̴̦̙̈́͐ľ̷͖̣ ̶̳̲̗̏͐ņ̵͚̒͌ö̷̰̹́ẗ̶̬͒̅ ̴͍̯͌a̴͍̱̋ḻ̸̜̖̍w̷̙͑̚a̶̩̅̇ÿ̵̗̯́s̸͓͎̘̄ ̵̢͉̒b̸̧̞͖̌̎͝e̴͙̣̮͘ ̵̛̺͗ä̷͕́̾ç̸̳̣̑̉̔k̴̤̪͊̕n̷̤̐̉̚ọ̷̥̀̌̕w̶̼̩͒͐l̶̻̖̇̃͘e̵͔̣̭͊̈́d̵̠̽̎̚g̷̬̽ͅë̵͕̰͝ḓ̸̨̡̛͗,̶͔̜̼̃ ̸̙͙̏͆A̷̮̜̜͗̃̐s̷͖̦̈́h̴̙̹͑̈́ê̷̡̳̤͑ń̵̩̩͖͘”

Dad did not turn his head to look at them, still facing the road. Dad _always_ looked their way! They pulled harder this time! Claws scratching the wooden planks! A bump made them open their mouth and let go of the cloak, to leap on it and do it again. Grimm barely turned his head, just enough to see the thrashing Vessel from the corner of one eye before looking back at the road.

_Have to learn when to leave the spotlight._

Ashling continued their tantrum until they were tired, laying down on their abdomen, panting. They huffed loudly and waddled to the rear to curl into a ball, growling.

“Ṣ̴̥̂ȗ̴̢͉̇̀c̶̮̠͓̍h̵͖̺͂̍ ̶̝̃d̵̩͓̊i̶̛̜̙͓͑̓s̴̥͋ͅp̴̤̪͂͝͠l̴̖̖̍̔̇a̴̡̾y̴̨̐͘ ̵̙̪̲̓̈́i̴̫̠͉̋̏̿s̸̘̒͠ ̷̱͔̈́͂̆u̶͔̕n̸̬̊̈́b̴̩͗ͅe̶̘͕͌̃͘f̸̖̭͈̓͛̒i̷̹̙͐͝ţ̵̟̙͑̏t̷̪͎̲̃ï̶͈̟̻̆͌n̶͖̍g̶̡̮̟̍̈́ ̴͓͓͊o̵̟͈͊̾͋f̵̪͓̌̕ ̸̩̰͛̈́͜a̷̗̮̱͑͑ ̶̦͔͈̊̚͝w̸̢͚̃̋ỷ̵̢̧̘͑ṙ̸̺͈m̸̝̼̦̑͋͠c̷̤̟̉h̷͓̑̈́͂i̸̢̛̘̫l̴̹̱̈̂d̶͎͓͚͊”

Said wyrmchild pulled out their tongue. Grimm’s shoulders trembled and Ashling could hear low laughter muffled by the sounds of the cart. Dad would speak in dragontongue when he was _serious_ or _admonished_ them if he was not teaching them something. The Vessel had an innate comprehension of the dialect, Dad’s talking helped them a lot with understanding more things, naming objects, people, and concepts. They did not understand exactly what he meant, but they knew that tone and who was its target, whether Dad was speaking in wyrmtongue or common. He talked less in wyrmtongue, as the days and weeks went, and the void child could guess what he was saying, based on the few words they remembered in common.

_The Troupe was departing from the Cliffs tomorrow morning with the rise of the sun. They spent the day in the arms of the Troupemaster, as he walked around the camp, naming the objects and people in wyrmtongue. So many things to remember, so many bugs, their head was spinning when the time came for dinner. They retained a few. Fate Teller (Divine), Sound Maker (Brumm), mantis, pillbug, termite, moth, fire, light, day, dark, night, stars, home, family… Father… Dad… Grimm said it in wyrmtongue and common, pointing at himself both times. Dad… and the next word the black moth spoke was for them._

_Ashen._

_He called them Ashling in common, but Ashling was not a name nor a word in wyrmtongue._

The Vessel pouted until the sun was halfway down, giving up. Grimm could almost commend them for keeping it up this long. Truth being, he always reflected better on the road, the moments of peace and tranquility. He was thinking about the way to raise his child. The caravan was far from Hallownest, far from the Pale Wyrm. No Great Knights to train his ward, no Vessels to play with them, no Cyrus to teach Ashling the art of soul. But the Nightmare King would go back to the subterranean kingdom one day.

Tonight, the Troupe did not stop, its child rocked to sleep by the tremors of the wagon, kept warm by its ebony cloak, its master on the lookout, until it reached a shore where waves crashed endlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now begins the part where I think full throttle about what is going to happen without ripping out other stories (Says the one who did ANOTHER fic where Grimm adopts a Vessel). I have a few key points written and began a drawing for chapter 3 today.
> 
> Time to go work, as in, writing ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯.  
> Happy I found the glitch text font generator. I know people use it for the Lord of Shades, but I think it does a nice job for dragontongue/wyrmtongue.


End file.
